Stuck inside the Outsider, now what?
by Hirvitank
Summary: Sure, when she'd gone to bed last night she might have smoked one hookah too many, and sure, she might even admit she shouldn't have gone through her entire stash of white-leaf tobacco—however, none of that explained how Emily had ended up stuck inside the Outsider's body, of all places!


The first of many things Emily noticed upon waking, were the strange—and entirely out of place—creaks and groans of aged woodwork, interrupted by a series of industrial huffs and puffs. Sure, when she'd gone to bed last night she might have smoked one hookah too many, and sure, she might even admit she shouldn't have gone through her entire stash of white-leaf tobacco. But such regrets did little to explain why her bed was moving, or why the familiar sounds of waves crashing against metal surrounded her. If Emily didn't know any better, she'd swear she was back on Mea—no, Billie's ship. A creak, followed by a particularly wild sway of her bed, and she shot upright. Wide-eyed and panting, she took in the slightly familiar interior and—fuck! She hadn't dreamt reclaiming her throne, had she? Without hesitation, she leapt from her cot, bare feet padding along the wooden floor. She felt strange, unbalanced—weak even. Perhaps it hadn't all been a dream, perhaps she—still under the influence of her hookah—had been lifted from her royal chambers for some unknown reason.

She threw the door with a loud bang, the impact of its metal frame against the ship's walls resounding throughout the vessel. Her gaze immediately found Billie, who seized her up with a single, raised brow and a look she could only describe as weary exasperation.

"I see—"

"What's going on, Billie?" Emily barked, surprised by the sound of her own voice but too stressed to pause and think.

"So I've been promoted to Billie now instead of Lurk?" The dark-skinned assassin drawled, an unusually cold glare twisting her features—only now did Emily notice the strange, reddish shard that covered one of her eyes, as well as the fragmented arm holding a greasy rag.

"Why'd you kidnap me?" She ignored the woman's quip, freezing at the assassin's open display of contempt; was Emily faced with yet another betrayal? (And seriously, what was up with her voice?)

Billie shook her head, rolling her eyes as she let out a tired sigh. "Really, kid? That joke was funny for maybe five minutes at the harbour," she paused, making a show of eyeing Emily up and down. "And put something on for goodness sake, nobody wants to see that."

"I—" Emily started, but immediately cut herself off, allowing Billie's words to sink in. Her breath hitched, her heart pounding in her ears as she felt a breeze hit the exposed skin of her chest. Swallowing thickly, she glanced down at herself, feeling her stomach lurch. Her hands shot up, immediately testing to see if she was really seeing what she was: unusually pale skin, covering an obviously malnourished frame, and... She shrieked, pinching herself, hands desperately grasping at— "Where are my boobs?"

Her words were met with a loud guffaw, and she had to bite her tongue to keep from strangling the obviously amused assassin. "I really shouldn't have fed you that tobacco," she shook her head, shoulders still trembling with laughter.

Emily narrowed her eyes, scowling at the other woman, trying her best to keep her mind out of her own pants—because she could swear there was something there, and if her flat chest was any indication... "You didn't feed me anything." She crossed her arms, regretting the action when she missed the usual curve of her bosom and—right, there'd been a point. "What did you do to me?"

"Go back to sleep, kid," Billie waved her off, returning her attention to whatever she had been doing. (Which was cleaning her vast collection of knives, Emily sourly noted.)

"I'm serious, Billie," she sneered nonetheless, closing in on the woman—noticing that, oh god, there was definitely something there. "My father won't be too pleased when he finds me gone."

This earned her a frown, drawing the assassin's single-eyed gaze back to her. "You have a father?"

Emily knew her parents' affair had been a secret, though a terribly kept one at best: the entire empire knew. "Now's not the time to be funny. When Corvo finds out he'll—"

Another burst of laughter, only this time it was laced with something harsher. "Corvo Attano? I doubt he'd give a rat's ass about any of this."

"Ho—"

Billie slammed her blade into the table. "Listen to me kid," she bristled, face twisting up in anger, "you're lucky I changed my mind and let you live, but I won't be playing along with your games. You're human, deal with it."

Emily paused, taking in a deep breath, noting how she was able to inhale less air than she was used to. She considered Billie's words, her tone, her expressions. This wasn't the friend she'd made all those weeks ago—the friend she'd given a sizeable gift in thanks for her loyal service. Billie had worked so hard to help her reclaim her throne; why would she think of assassinating the woman she'd, only a few weeks prior, offered shelter? Swallowing something thick, Emily looked down at her hands: pale skin and long fingers. Her chest moved with every breath she took, ribs slightly sticking out in the absence of fat. She was wiry, taller, and obviously male. Could it be she... "Who am I?"

Billie cocked her head, single eye looking down her nose in Emily's direction. "That's something you'll have to figure out by yourself." She sighed, then, softening up. "Have you thought about what I proposed yet? Do you have anywhere to go?"

Emily wanted to say home, instead she said Dunwall Tower. Meanwhile her mind was racing to connect the dots. She wasn't asleep; her pinches had obviously hurt. She also wasn't herself, instead she was a young man—someone who Billie had been planning on assassinating. Would she know this person? Licking her lips, she quickly spoke again. "Do you have any mirrors?"

"You threw them all out, remember? I'll have you know I'll be making you pay me back for those." Billie was scowling down at her blade, continuing her efforts. She turned it, its hilt glinting, revealing a brief reflection of pale green eyes—eyes Emily had never seen before.

"Would you believe me if I told you I'm Emily Kaldwin?" The name felt strange, spoken with a different voice—but somehow sounding familiar.

Billie scoffed. "Not a chance, pal."

Emily frowned, trying to think of a way to convince Billie of her identity... She'd have to tell her something only the two of them could know. "When we met you told me I wouldn't get far with my face, being stamped on half the coins in the city," she paused, biting her lip. "You introduced yourself as Meagan Foster, said you learned something scary down south."

Billie's hands had stopped moving, her one eye directed at Emily in a deadpan stare. "Of course you'd know that," she replied, promptly returning to her work.

Emily frowned, wrapping her arms around herself—or whoever she was right now. "How would anyone be able to know such things?"

"Cut the crap already. I don't know what's going on with you, but if it's Emily Kaldwin you want then you can tell her that yourself. Don't think I hadn't noticed you visiting her."

She'd been visited by this man? She couldn't recall ever meeting anyone with eyes as pale as his.

"And if you insist on staying awake, then at least sit down and eat something," Billie continued, shoving a plate of bread and tinned seafood in her direction. "You look like shit."

Emily looked down at the offered food before daring another glance at her torso. She did look like shit. "Do I have clothes?" She asked, avoiding the assassin's gaze.

Instead of replying, Billie reached behind her with an annoyed huff, unceremoniously throwing a black shirt in Emily's direction. "We'll get you something proper in Dunwall," the assassin mumbled, already turned away again.

Pulling the shirt over her head, Emily noticed how it was a couple sizes too small, but didn't say anything about it. Instead, she sat herself down, cringing when the movement furthered her awareness of her unmentionables. "So, where are we?"

"Really?" Billie complained, not bothering to look up anymore. "Did you hit your head going to sleep last night?" She put down the knife she'd been cleaning, moving to work on another. "We're in Serkonos still. We agreed on calling you Mark, since you seemed to thoroughly enjoy the irony of it. Last night I asked you where I could get rid of you, but you hadn't considered anything yet."

Serkonos. Had Emily met this man during her trip there? Absentmindedly chewing a piece of bread, she tried to recall everyone she'd spoken to, but found herself lost in a faceless sea of fleeting encounters. "What happened to your eye?"

"You happened." Billie didn't elaborate.

Emily frowned again, breaking off another piece of bread, only now realising how starved she felt. "Is that why you were going to assassinate me?"

"No, but I am currently reconsidering," Billie deadpanned, taking in a deep breath. "You know, if you're really that confused, we could arrange a visit with Hypatia. Maybe something went wrong. Maybe you're not supposed to live."

Emily shook her head, carefully considering Billie's words. "Why wouldn't I?" She asked, growing increasingly curious about this strange man she inhabited. One thing was certain: Billie didn't seem to like him much, but had still chosen to spare his life.

"I don't know, maybe you've been in the Void for too long. You saw what it did to those cultists. Ate away their minds."

Just who was she? "What was I doing in the Void?" Emily pressed on, breathless, heart pounding in her ears. Her mind was trying to connect the dots, gathering every sliver of information she'd gleamed so far; this person was pale, underfed, green-eyed, and for some unfathomable reason the name 'Mark' had been ironic. Furthermore; he'd been taken from the Void, yet he'd spoken with her in the past, and somehow he'd been the reason behind Billie's unsettling new appearance.

"That's the thing we've all been wondering, isn't it?" Billie spared her a glance, her single eye narrowing.

So far there was only one person Emily knew wandered the Void, who would know things he hadn't been present for, who had spoken with her specifically, and who would be capable of magically altering Billie's physical body. If she hadn't been as pale as she already was, Emily was sure she would have blanched significantly as the realisation hit her. Swallowing against the sudden dryness of her throat, she forced out the words, feeling her stomach twist nervously. "Am I the Outsider?"

Billie let out a snort. "Not anymore, you're not."

The confirmation wasn't direct, but the implications were there. Emily sucked in a deep breath, suddenly lightheaded. There was another glint of steel, and she just managed to catch the familiar sight in its reflection: dark hair and chiseled features. If she truly inhabited the Outsider's body, did that mean he currently inhabited hers? Heat flushed her cheeks, the thought of him waking up inside h—no! That sounded entirely too wrong, and she was certain her (or his) face burned to very the tips of her ears at the improper thought. Now that she'd figured out the identity of her body, she felt hyper aware of every sensation. She noted how her lungs drew in significantly less air, her limbs feeling sluggish and weak. And now that she thought about it, even her vision seemed less sharp than she was used to. There was a muted pain in her stomach, as if she hadn't eaten in weeks—not that she had any prior experience to go on. Then there was the fact that her physique felt different; taller, broader, flatter (in _some _places, at least).

Emily had very little experience being a man, and though she had seen her fair share of male anatomy, that by no means meant she was ready to be confirming the myth of the Outsider's crooked co—by the Void, what had she gotten herself into? If she could just keep from drinking anything for as long as possible… She let out a shuddery breath, sourly noting she had reached the last of her bread. Her hunger hadn't been satisfied, but she doubted she could stomach the tin of eels Billie had offered.

"So what's your deal with the Empress?" Billie suddenly asked, interrupting Emily's thoughts.

She looked up in surprise, meeting the assassin's gaze. "What do you mean?" This time she clearly recognised the sound of her current voice, and wondered how she hadn't realised sooner.

"You know what I mean. First the thing with Daud, then Delilah," she raised a brow, "now this."

With the worst of her initial shock abated, Emily felt herself overcome by exhaustion—the Outsider was one tired man, and she could at least sympathise with that. "I don't know what you're talking about, Billie," Emily sighed, rubbing her face, painfully aware it felt nothing like her own. Judging by the roughness of it, she'd be in need of a shave real soon, something she had no experience doing. Either she'd grow a beard, or she'd butcher the face of a man who probably knew of many ways to punish her for it (and sat on her throne at this very moment).

"If you're going to insist on being sad, then at least take it elsewhere instead of my place of work. You're clogging up the air with your doom and gloom."

Emily narrowed her eyes in Billie's direction, but the prickly assassin didn't acknowledge her. "Fine," she sneered, frustrated with the entire situation. She'd been given a lot to think about anyway. Billie's question had left her with plenty of her own, and she direly needed to figure out a way to convince the assassin of her true identity. "What would the Outsider even gain from pretending to be someone else?"

"I won't act as if I am one to understand your motives," Billie muttered, moving on to the next blade. "But it also wouldn't surprise me if you finally lost your mind."

Scowling, Emily stood, sensing the woman before her was as thick headed as some of her advisors (Leonora, to be precise). Billie didn't say anything as Emily moved back to her room, noticing how the door had left a dent. Perhaps the assassin's ire hadn't been completely undeserved. Stepping inside, she set off to see if the Outsider possessed anything of use. She doubted it, though. She did manage to spot a familiar jacket, its black fabric carrying a coppery scent that reminded her of the Void. She had better wash that... perhaps his body too. At least his torso, she wasn't about to remove his pants willingly. She also found a white shirt, along with a pair of worn-down boots. She took it all, figuring she might as well be pragmatic about her current situation. As she bent down to pick everything up, one of her knees popped loudly. How old was this guy anyway? Perhaps he'd lived a sporty life in the Void, or maybe before his sacrifice—if his physique was anything to go on, she highly doubted either option.

Releasing a small breath, she braced herself, clothing and shoes carefully tucked beneath one of her arms. At least he had big hands, which greatly helped with carrying everything. She stood, feeling another pop that had her wincing—she'd have to make him see a physician for that. Searching for anything she could use, she was happy to find a couple of rags and some soap. The small window of her room revealed the sun had already risen, and she decided she'd best get some light before her skin turned even paler—or worse, transparent. This time she didn't throw her door as she exited her room, and Billie seemed almost relieved.

"Don't leave the ship, we're departing soon," the assassin warned without looking up.

Emily let out a grunt of acknowledgement, heading towards the deck without looking back. She hadn't paid it much attention at first, but she'd quickly come to realise she wasn't aboard the Dreadful Wale. She briefly wondered why Billie had a different ship, but found herself loathe to ask. Pulling at the hem of her shirt—which was much too tight—she attempted to keep her stomach covered as she moved, annoyed at the constant sliver of exposed skin. Though less loudly, her knee still popped as she ascended the stairs, which at least distracted her from the other sensations of her body. She soon reached another door, and she used her free hand to push it open, annoyed to feel her shirt creeping back up. The brightness of the sun was almost overwhelming, stinging her eyes with its intensity. Narrowing them to slits, she carefully stepped out, feeling its warmth wash over her. The familiar sounds of the harbour surrounded her, reminding her of her own time in Serkonos.

Luckily, it didn't take her long to find a bucket and some water, and she soon picked a nice spot along the deck. Allowing herself to drop down, she took a moment to catch her breath before getting to work. She had the Outsider's clothing washed in a matter of minutes, the articles left to dry across the ship's railing. The sun warmed her as she worked, expelling the strange cold that had clung to her limbs and reinvigorating some of her energy. She took off the shirt Billie had handed her, using a clean rag and some fresh water to scrub at her skin. It looked even paler in daylight, and Emily wondered if some of her exhaustion could be due to an obvious lack of sun. Despite the awkwardness of washing another man's body, she did enjoy the smells of sea and soap, grateful that—despite it still being early—the Serkonan air was already balmy. When she finished, she leaned back against the railing, allowing the sun's heat to evaporate the moisture off her skin. When she glanced to the side, she noticed the water inside the bucket had stilled, revealing her reflection. Pale, green eyes stared back, and Emily found herself surprised by their brightness—they were certainly a stark contrast to the black on black she remembered. Though the image cast by the water wasn't very clear, she could easily recognise the features that greeted her. It was strange, gazing at the face of a god turned human again.

Spurred on by curiosity, Emily leaned closer, interrupted when the ship stirred, its movements disturbing the water. She hadn't noticed Billie untie the vessel's lines from the dock, too caught up in her own thoughts, and she started when she spotted the assassin staring at her through a window. There was a strange look in that single eye of hers, and Emily couldn't help the pang of sadness she felt, sorely missing the friendship they'd shared. She'd really have to work on that. Looking down at her exposed skin, she decided that there'd be many more things she'd be needing to work on—at least until she found a way to return to her own body… If that was even possible. Allowing her eyes to close, she let the ship's rhythmic bobbing lull her into a quiet calm. Soon, she'd be back home. At least then she'd be one step closer to solving this horrible mess, and after that... well, she would never have to worry about the Outsider again.


End file.
